Ink, Spit and Sincerity
by who-la-hoop
Summary: Ritsuka/Soubi. In which Soubi and Ritsuka discover the sixth sense; fail to consummate their relationship on several occasions; and learn some things about life, love and seashells.


"You lied," Ritsuka said.

"I did?"

Ritsuka nodded, looking up at Soubi from behind a stack of books. There were black circles under his eyes and his ears were drooping. It was all Soubi could do to restrain himself from picking the boy up and forcibly putting him in bed.

"You told me there were five senses," Ritsuka said, rather accusingly.

Soubi stared at him. "There are." Was Ritsuka sick? Or hallucinating? The stress of Ritsuka's upcoming high school entrance exams was getting to them both, but he hadn't expected it to make his sacrifice lose his wits.

"There aren't!" Ritsuka said. He glared at Soubi. "There are eleven and I'd like to know how I'm going to remember them, given that you lied to me and if I try to remember anything else then all the rest of my studies will leak out of my ears."

Soubi, trying his best not to laugh at the adorable pout on Ritsuka's lips, took the book from his hands. "There," he said, reading out loud, "are five traditional senses. Sight, hearing, touch, smell and taste. Humans also have at least six additional—"

"See! Six additional! At least!"

Soubi couldn't help but smile at Ritsuka's outraged expression. In many ways, Ritsuka was exactly the same as when Soubi had met him – stubborn, innocent and completely cute.

"Ritsuka, your schooling is a little different to how mine was. I did most of my studying in my free time, using the school library."

Ritsuka frowned, and Soubi reached over to scratch his ears. His frown shifted. It was still a frown, but it was his 'you're so annoying' frown rather than the one that made Soubi's heart hurt. He wished his past were different – not for himself, but because thinking about it seemed to cause Ritsuka pain.

"You're such an idiot," Ritsuka mumbled.

"I'm sorry, Ritsuka."

"You should be," Ritsuka said sternly.

"Can I help?"

Ritsuka nodded.

"Do you remember the five senses?"

Ritsuka scowled. "No thanks to you." He listed them, checking them off on his fingers. "I still don't like the idea of anyone biting my tongue, pervert."

Soubi started. "What?"

"Nothing," Ritsuka said, a blush travelling up his cheeks. "Just some stupid thing you said. The first time you met Yuiko," he clarified.

"That was years ago," Soubi said, a mixture of pleased and bewildered that Ritsuka could remember something that he himself couldn't recall.

Ritsuka huffed impatiently. "That's not the point. Are you going to help me, or not?"

Soubi smiled down at the book. "You already know six senses."

"I do?"

"Nociception," Soubi read out from the book. "Sense of pain."

"Huh," Ritsuka said. "That's something you'd know all about." Then, as if remembering something, he added: "Masochist."

Soubi laughed and pressed a kiss to the top of Ritsuka's head. Ritsuka squirmed, but he didn't push him away.

"Bed," Soubi suggested.

Ritsuka stifled a yawn and shot him a suspicious look, but rose obediently.

"I'll show you the real pleasure of pain," Soubi said, grinning.

Ritsuka threw the book at his head.

*****

Ritsuka was breathing heavily. Every now and then he made a soft, happy noise that communicated its way straight to a very inconvenient part of Soubi. Inconvenient, in that Ritsuka was tucked between his legs, his hair so close to Soubi's nose that it tickled.

Tip to self, Soubi thought. Next time you offer to give Ritsuka a shoulder massage, _don't do it in the first place_. Illogical, maybe, but very good advice nevertheless.

He worked harder at one of the knots in Ritsuka's muscles and his sacrifice squirmed. "That hurts," he complained, but didn't move away.

"Sorry, Ritsuka," Soubi murmured, obediently, and stilled his fingers.

"Don't _stop_," Ritsuka said, his ears twitching. "Just don't do it so hard."

Soubi complied, his fingers working their way up Ritsuka's neck. His fingers tangled in Ritsuka's t-shirt and Ritsuka pulled away sharply. Soubi was about to apologise again, torn between his enjoyment at his sacrifice's closeness and his terror that Ritsuka would lean back against him and discover quite how _much_ he was enjoying it, when he froze.

_Ritsuka was taking his t-shirt off._

"Carry on," Ritsuka said, not turning round to look at Soubi. His voice wavered. "That's an order, Soubi."

Soubi wanted to laugh – or maybe weep with frustration – but an order was an order. When he touched Ritsuka's skin, fingertips trailing across his back, Ritsuka made a surprised noise, and leaned back a fraction.

He'd seen Ritsuka undressed before, of course, mostly bathed in half-light as clothes were perfunctorily changed for pyjamas, or back.

He'd never before, though, been given the opportunity to touch.

Ritsuka's embarrassment at Soubi's infrequent hugs and kisses had grown as he himself had grown. Soubi could barely remember his own puberty – what it felt like to straddle the gap between boy and man - but Ritsuka changed before his eyes, his body unfolding and growing like a magic trick. One day, waiting for Ritsuka outside the school, he noticed that several of Ritsuka's classmates didn't have ears. He noticed that people were looking at him – and at Ritsuka – and back. He noticed that, when he moved forward to give Ritsuka his usual hug, Ritsuka flinched. So Soubi had reached for a cigarette instead, and tried not to fall apart when Ritsuka smiled and looked relieved.

Soubi blinked away the wetness in his eyes and smiled wryly, his fingers finding more of a purchase against Ritsuka's back. If Ritsuka knew he was crying over a massage – if he found out that Soubi felt like he'd been given a gift beyond compare – he'd shrug him off and call him an idiot. Soubi knew it couldn't be idiocy, though, if it made him feel such joy.

Ritsuka was less scarred than Soubi expected, though his skin bore the silver lines of forgotten pain. He was pale, as if his body had never seen the sun. He was _perfect_.

"That feels nice," Ritsuka said, sounding very drowsy. "Can I lie down?" He moved before Soubi had a chance to respond, his body twisting in Soubi's lap.

Ritsuka was warm against him and so solid – so warm and solid against… Soubi jerked back as Ritsuka gasped.

"Soubi!"

"Yes, Ritsuka?" Soubi said, hyperventilating.

"Pervert," Ritsuka mumbled, burying his face in his arms and stretching full out on the bed. Then, after some time, "please."

Soubi froze, now unable to breathe at all. Please? Please what? "Whatever you want, Ritsuka," he settled for, when his brain began to function again. "Tell me what you want."

Ritsuka shifted. The back of his neck was red and the flush was travelling down his shoulders. "T-touch me," he mumbled. Then his back stiffened. "But not like _that_," he amended.

"Not like what?" Soubi teased, feeling like he was regaining his balance. He ran his palm flat down the centre of Ritsuka's back.

"You know what I mean," Ritsuka said, his voice thick with embarrassment.

"Not ever?"

"Shut up, Soubi."

Soubi laughed and complied. His fingers didn't stray and he restrained himself from kissing more than the tips of Ritsuka's ears, but Ritsuka refused to roll over when he was done and they both knew the reason why.

Somehow, the release Soubi granted himself later that night – alone in his bed – wasn't nearly as satisfying as the feel of Ritsuka's skin under the tips of his fingers.

*****

Kio took one look at Soubi's face and handed him a beer. Soubi drank it in one go, his throat moving as he swallowed, and he held out his hand for another. After a second look, Kio handed him a lollipop instead and – when Soubi fumbled and dropped it – gave him a hug.

"Get off," Soubi said, after a considerable length of time.

"You know I never give up hope," Kio said mildly, trying to conceal his worry. "One day you'll fall for my charms."

Soubi snorted as Kio pushed him into a chair. "Such tender loving care. I wonder why I've resisted for so long."

Kio grinned – or at least attempted to grin. He handed Soubi another beer. "Now drink it slowly, Sou-chan, and tell me what's wrong. How have you upset the jailbait now?"

Soubi didn't respond, just stared down at the drink in his hand.

"Sou-chan?"

Soubi fumbled in his pocket, pulling out his phone, staring at it for a moment, then putting it back.

Kio dropped to the floor in front of his friend. "Tell me what the little brat's done now."

"He's on a date," Soubi said. His voice was blank of emotion but his eyes were sad and tired. "He's on a date." He looked away. "A _date_," he whispered, as if he no longer understood what the word meant.

"What?" Kio said, dumfounded. "The little shit! Just wait til I—"

"Don't," Soubi said.

Kio found his arm suddenly gripped, so tight it hurt. "Why not? He's your boyfriend, isn't he? He can't just—"

Soubi shook his head, his lips pressed tight together. He reminded Kio uncomfortably of a child having a tantrum. "He's not. It's not my place to complain. You don't understand."

Kio felt an uncontrollable urge to hit Soubi. "Don't be an idiot. It's not right. He shouldn't—" He broke off at the look on Soubi's face. Sou-chan was shaking his head again, so hard that it had to be hurting his neck. "Okay, okay, I'll shut up," he said. "Don't, Sou-chan, you'll hurt yourself."

Soubi fumbled at the ring-pull of his drink, the foam overflowing and spraying on his clothes. He didn't seem to notice though, taking a shaky sip, his eyes closed.

"I'll get a cloth," Kio said.

Kio dashed to the kitchen, pulled out his phone and dialled. It rang just twice before it was answered. "Soubi's having a nervous breakdown," he snapped into it, not waiting for Ritsuka to say hello. "Get over here right now, you little shit." He hung up, and found that he was breathing heavily. Shaking his head, he grabbed a handful of kitchen towel and headed back to Soubi.

Twenty minutes later, the doorbell rang. Kio jumped, looking over at Soubi. Soubi was lying on the couch, fast asleep. He twitched, but didn't wake. Kio suspected he hadn't slept for some days now, to sleep so deeply.

Ritsuka was standing on the doorstep, arms folded. "I went to Soubi's first," he said, sounding very grouchy. "But you weren't there."

"He's _here_," Kio said, not feeling well disposed towards the boy before him. "Come in."

Ritsuka continued to stand on the doorstep.

"Well, come on," Kio said crossly. "He's asleep. Though why you're afraid, I have no idea. You could stab Sou-chan through the heart and he'd thank you for it. I hope she was worth it."

Ritsuka's lower lip wobbled. "I just wanted to be _normal_ for once!" he burst out, his eyes unnaturally bright.

"And did you feel normal?" Kio asked, wondering which of his wretched friends was the most immature. At least Ritsuka had the excuse of actually _being_ a teenager – while Soubi just acted like one, half the time.

Ritsuka shook his head, wrapping his arms more tightly around his body. "I felt mean," he said, very softly. "And I wished I was with Soubi instead."

Kio sighed. "Come on. He probably won't even wake up."

Ritsuka followed him obediently, silently. Soubi was still asleep, his blond hair fanned across his face.

"Idiot," Ritsuka said, looking down at him with a frown. "You'll get cold." He shrugged off his coat, placing it carelessly on Soubi's sleeping body. Then he leaned down, very quickly. "Sorry," he mumbled, and kissed Soubi's cheek. He turned, his eyes dark and fierce, back to Kio. "Can I stay the night?"

Kio shuddered. "In the spare room."

Ritsuka nodded and stomped off, leaving Kio alone with Soubi's sleeping form. Soubi sighed in his sleep, and Kio tucked the coat around him more securely.

"You're both as bad as each other," he muttered, and took himself – and another beer – to bed.

*****

There was right. There was wrong. And then there was Ritsuka, so nervous he was shaking, straddling him and saying things he definitely didn't mean. This was both so right – and so indescribably, unutterably _wrong_ that it defied description altogether.

Soubi pushed him off, very gently. "No," he said.

"You can't say no!" Ritsuka said, his eyes wide. "It's an order!"

"I still won't do it," Soubi said. He reached out to stroke Ritsuka's cheek, but Ritsuka sheered away like a frightened horse. Soubi snorted. "You're not nearly ready."

"_You_ did it, way before my age," Ritsuka accused.

"Is this to be part of my training, then?" Soubi asked before he could stop himself. The words tasted foul on his tongue.

Ritsuka frowned. "I'm not training you," he said. "Isn't this what you want?"

"No," Soubi said, grateful beyond measure that Ritsuka appeared not to have understood his bitter words. "Don't be ridiculous. You're still a child."

Ritsuka flushed, and Soubi knew he was serious when he remained silent for a while.

"Don't you miss, you know, it?" Ritsuka mumbled.

"It?" Soubi asked dumbly.

Ritsuka glared at him. "Sex," he hissed, his cheeks burning even redder.

"Oh," Soubi said, feeling a bit stupid. "No, not really." Sex was pain and loss of control and humiliation. Why would he miss that? "Why do you ask?"

Ritsuka shrugged, wrapping his arms around his legs and curling up tight. "I don't want you – you – _doing it_ with anyone else."

Soubi laughed, surprised.

"Don't laugh! It's not funny."

Soubi suddenly felt a whole lot better. "Oh, the things I want to do to you," he murmured, leaning in close to Ritsuka's ear.

"Soubi!" Ritsuka squeaked, unfolding and almost leaping away. He shrugged on his coat. "I'd better get home."

"I'll take you."

Ritsuka didn't object – much – so Soubi did so. Some days later he gave Ritsuka a book called _A Young Man's Guide to Sex_ - all tasteful drawings of half-clad ladies on their backs. It took him two weeks to make Ritsuka forgive him, but some things were worth the trouble.

*****

Soubi had never been on holiday before, let alone been _taken_ on holiday. It was a novel experience, being treated, and one that made him feel odd and guilty. Still, Ritsuka had insisted so he hadn't had a choice, in the end.

Ritsuka was oddly nervy, his ears and tail twitching as they walked along the beach. The tide was coming in and the light was fading. Soubi reached down to pick up a particularly beautiful shell. When he picked it up, rubbing the damp sand from its surface, he found it was broken, the underside smashed and ugly. He'd been going to give it to Ritsuka but he slipped it into his pocket inside.

"Here," Ritsuka said suddenly, pushing something into Soubi's hands.

Soubi looked down. It was a small stone with a hole in the centre. The edges were smooth and it fit snugly in his palm.

Then Ritsuka kissed him.

Ritsuka's lips were warm and dry and he kissed like he didn't know what he was doing, but Soubi was too terrified to take the lead. He hadn't kissed anyone for a long time, and this was _Ritsuka_ and —

"Do you want this or not?" Ritsuka asked, very fiercely, pulling away and glaring at him.

"Please," Soubi said – the word coming out like a whimper, but he didn't really care, because Ritsuka's arms were round him, Ritsuka's mouth on his own once more.

Ritsuka shifted suddenly, leaning his cheek against Soubi's own. "I want to lose my ears to you."

It sounded determined.

It sounded like an order.

"Here?" Soubi asked, rather dubiously. He didn't like the thought of the sand, and his pockets were empty of anything that would ease the way. It would hurt, and he wouldn't be able to conceal that from his sacrifice.

"Don't be an idiot," Ritsuka said, and Soubi sagged with relief. "And I didn't mean now. I just meant – that I wanted to. If you want to."

Soubi kissed Ritsuka on the nose.

"Don't _do_ that," Ritsuka said, squirming free. "Dummy."

"Yes," Soubi said. He couldn't stop smiling. "I do."

"Do what?" Ritsuka asked.

"Want you to take me—"

"Soubi!"

"—whenever you like."

Ritsuka's mouth was ajar. Soubi almost laughed. Surely Ritsuka hadn't expected it to be the other way round?

"To the _hotel_," he said, trying to keep a straight face.

Ritsuka shot him a suspicious look, but took his hand and led the way.

Back at the hotel, lying alone in bed after an extended kissing session that had left him breathless and weak, Soubi thought he'd never felt quite as content in all his life.

*****

"It sounds like the sea," Ritsuka said, holding the shell up to his ear as instructed. "How come?"

Soubi smiled at him fondly. "I believe it's something to do with echoes."

"That doesn't make sense," Ritsuka said, screwing up his forehead. He put the shell on the bed in front of him, stretching out his legs.

"It doesn't have to make sense," Soubi said mildly. He fiddled with the packet of nicotine replacement patches. "Do you think I could wear all of these at once?"

"Don't be stupid," Ritsuka said severely. "That won't help you quit."

Soubi stuck one of the patches on his arm and tried to imagine he felt some relief from it. He wasn't sure it was working. "If you were a child, you'd probably have believed that that _was_ the sea you were hearing."

"I'm not that easily fooled," Ritsuka said, wrinkling his nose. His ears twitched.

Soubi looked over at him. "It's nothing to do with being fooled. It's about believing in the available evidence."

"It sounds like the sea, so it must be the sea?"

"Precisely." Soubi put the packet of useless patches back in his pocket. It didn't matter whether he used them or not – he'd never smoke again, regardless. An order was an order. He was only surprised, to be honest, that Ritsuka hadn't given it earlier.

Ritsuka was silent for a while. He kept looking over at Soubi, however – like he was working something out. Soubi braced himself.

"You know fighters and sacrifices share the same name," Ritsuka said eventually.

"Yes, Ritsuka," Soubi said. He rubbed at the patch, picking at the edges. They lifted up from his skin, snagging tiny hairs. It stung.

"And you're my fighter, even though I haven't written my name on you."

Soubi tried not to flinch. He bent forward over his arm, smoothing the patch back down flat. His hair swung across his face. "Yes, Ritsuka."

"Well?"

"Ritsuka?"

"Do you believe in the available evidence?"

Soubi looked over at Ritsuka. He was leaning forward, arms resting on his knees, his expression serious and determined. He evidently wasn't trying to be cruel – although Soubi couldn't see what could be gained by reminding him of the obvious. Ritsuka had claimed him, but … not completely. The ties that bound them together were of their own making – knotted ribbon rather than unbreakable steel.

Ritsuka smiled, very slightly. "Just because you can't see it, doesn't mean it's not there."

"Ritsuka," Soubi said, finding it hard to breathe. "The sea is not, despite available evidence, in the seashell. What are you—"

"Come here."

Soubi, rather reluctantly, did as commanded, perching on the edge of the bed.

"_Properly_, Soubi," Ritsuka said, rolling his eyes, and tugging at Soubi's sleeve.

Soubi allowed himself to be pulled fully on the bed, Ritsuka manoeuvring him until he was seated between Ritsuka's legs, back against his sacrifice's chest.

"Take off your shirt."

Soubi bent his head, fumbling with the buttons. Ritsuka's voice was shaky, but there was an underlying calmness that soothed Soubi's shot nerves. Besides, there was something inherently calming about following orders – even under circumstances such as these. He slid the shirt off his shoulders and waited, head bowed.

Something tickled against his back, but Soubi kept quite still. The movement became firmer – something smooth dragging against his skin in a series of incomprehensible lines. The smell of permanent marker filled the air.

Soubi smiled, despite himself.

"Done," Ritsuka said. "Loveless – there – on your skin."

"It will wash off eventually," Soubi said mildly.

"Will it?" Ritsuka asked. "Like mine?"

"Your name isn't—" Soubi started – and frowned. He'd never seen Ritsuka's name marking. He'd always presumed it was hidden under Ritsuka's hair, or else somewhere very personal.

"How about if I do it like this," Ritsuka said. He sounded very awkward, and his hands crept down to Soubi's hips, holding him in place.

Something warm and damp slid purposefully along the skin of Soubi's back, just below the line of his bandaged neck. Soubi held himself completely still, not even daring to take a breath, as Ritsuka's tongue worked purposefully. It wasn't erotic, but it wasn't unpleasant either, the sensation both ticklish and soothing.

"Does that work?" Ritsuka asked, his voice a bit too loud, when he was done. "If not," he continued, not waiting for Soubi to respond, "I could always create stickers out of your nicotine patches, although—"

"Thank you, Ritsuka," Soubi interrupted, aware – as always – that now was a good time to interrupt and take the pressure off his sacrifice. "That was very thoughtful of you."

Ritsuka made a frustrated noise. He leaned forward, leaning his head against Soubi's back. His hair tickled, but Soubi made no complaints – why would he? Any physical contact with Ritsuka was much welcomed.

"It's not supposed to be _thoughtful_," Ritsuka said. "It's supposed to _work_. Did it?"

"Perfectly," Soubi lied. He preferred not to lie to Ritsuka, but sometimes it was necessary for his sacrifice's happiness. Besides, it wasn't completely a lie. He appreciated the thought – even if the result brought no actual change.

"Don't lie, Soubi."

Soubi felt a hand on his arm, tugging him round. He shifted, swivelling to sit cross-legged before Ritsuka. Ritsuka looked tired, his ears drooping and his tail lying flat on the bed beside him.

"Can't you just trust me?" Ritsuka asked, clearly angry. His voice was almost scornful – which would have hurt, except Soubi knew Ritsuka by now, better than he knew himself, he often thought. "Why do you have to keep on being so stupid about this?"

The thread of light that shone around Ritsuka at all times – constantly reminding Soubi that he _wasn't right_ and Ritsuka _wasn't his_ - coiled around Soubi, almost touching his skin. "Do you doubt that I trust you?" he asked, reaching forward to stroke a hand through Ritsuka's hair. Ritsuka shivered under his touch and didn't push him away.

Finally, Ritsuka rolled his eyes and scowled, his chin jutting forward. "Then if I trust you, and you trust me, what the hell are we fighting about?"

"We're not fighting," Soubi murmured, twining his fingers around one of Ritsuka's ears. He'd miss them when they were gone. He had hopes, however, that this would be sooner rather than later.

"You could have fooled me," Ritsuka said. He wrapped his arms around Soubi, pulling him close and nestling his head tight into the curve of Soubi's neck.

Later, as they lay curled together, clad in their nightclothes, Ritsuka yawned hugely. "I don't have my name written on me, by the way."

Soubi blinked. "You must have."

"Well, I don't." Ritsuka's voice was sleepy but firm.

"Just because you can't see it, doesn't mean it's not there," Soubi said. He meant that it was as he expected – the name was on Ritsuka's head, concealed by his hair, most likely.

"Huh," Ritsuka said. "Exactly." Then, after a short silence: "You idiot."

Soubi smiled and pulled Ritsuka even closer towards him. Ritsuka muttered something under his breath, but allowed himself to be cuddled, his tail wrapping itself around Soubi's leg. Soubi felt relaxed and happy – more so than he'd done in a long time. He smiled, laughing softly.

"What?" Ritsuka murmured, suspiciously.

"Nothing," Soubi soothed, and Ritsuka buried his head into the pillow, his eyes drifting shut.

Soubi wasn't sure he could trust in the evidence of his senses – and he wasn't sure he could trust _without_ their evidence, either. But there was one thing he could trust, implicitly: Ritsuka. And he was learning to be okay with that.


End file.
